


Almost Like Home

by BlunderGod (PompousPickle)



Series: The Fire Does Not Rule You [6]
Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Introspection, Love Confessions, M/M, fluff and feelings, lots of kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-02 23:14:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6586756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PompousPickle/pseuds/BlunderGod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kenshi meditates on his place in the Shirai Ryu dojo. Hanzo meditates on his place with Kenshi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> Wow I wrote this ages ago and never uploaded it oops?

Not every night was spent with Takeda. Many nights, Kenshi found himself alone, ruminating with his own thoughts. Many of the ninjas were off practicing night drills, or working on operating under the cover of the night. They took to the forests and mountains of the surrounding area, leaving the compound quiet, near-deserted.

He sat in the main room of the dojo, meditating and focusing his energy. If he were being honest with himself, he had felt uneasy since he first moved in. Training with his estranged son had not been easy on either party. Living with him, even less so.

He took a long, practiced breath, closing his eyes and bringing his thoughts forward. Being telepathic meant having to read your own thoughts as easily as you could others. It was an art Takeda still hadn’t mastered, often ignorant towards his own conflicting feelings. Kenshi let thoughts of his son wash over him, knowing that it would all come together with practice. And the damaged feelings between them would heal, in time.

His ears twitched and his shoulders tensed, hearing footsteps approach the dojo door and paused. He focused his mind, sensing the energy outside of the door. With a small smile, he relaxed. “Master Hasashi,” he said before the man even entered, sliding the dojo door open.

Kenshi stood up to greet the man with a bow. He heard a short huff as Hanzo sat down on the mat, clearing his throat to signal for the other man to join him. Kenshi couldn’t help but smile, feeling his heart become just a little less heavy. It was strange to think that a man like Hanzo Hasashi- strong and stubborn and ruthless- could so easily read into the needs of those around him. It was hard to see, most of the time. But Kenshi supposed that’s what made the man such a good leader to his clan.

Kenshi sat down again and resumed his position. This time focusing his thoughts and energy forward, using Hanzo’s energy as a starting point. The man ran hot, even when completely silent and meditating. There was always a piece of him on edge, always ready to strike. His energy and spirit were warm to Kenshi’s senses, but hardly uncomfortable. He allowed his mind to wander, imagining what it would be like to share a bed with a man like that, if only for a night.

Kenshi breathed out a small laugh, imagining the stifling heat of Hanzo’s company under covers. Still, he wanted to experience it. He had for a while. But living in close quarters with him for months on end was making it harder and harder to go without.

Still, he wasn’t entirely sure what Hanzo wanted from him. He knew it was more than simple friendship, but he could not bear to delve deeper into the man’s emotions than strictly necessary. Still, in time Kenshi would take his son to train elsewhere. And his proximity to Hanzo would be as before, if not even further. The swordsman was not intimidated by distance, but he did not like the idea of leaving before things were settled between them.

“You are either unsettled or showing off. Either way, it does not suit you.”

Hanzo’s voice rang above his thoughts,  breaking through his mind like an attack. With a small thud, Kenshi hit the floor, not realizing that he had been levitating a small distance from the ground. He tried to smile again, leaning back on his hands. “I see my attempts to impress you have fallen flat,” Kenshi replied in an attempt to cover for himself.

Hanzo only snorted. And with a brief shuffle, he returned to his feet. “You wish to impress me?” His voice sounded short and sharp, as though startled. Kenshi picked up a mix of emotions. Embarrassment, frustration, and perhaps a hint of elation. However, Hanzo gave Kenshi very little time to ruminate on it before he continued. “Then on your feet. Show me you can move with the rest of the clan.”

Kenshi let out a small sigh, unsurprised by the demand. He moved slowly to his feet and bowed towards Hanzo before pushing his hands forward and pulling into a resting stance. The swordsman had been working on the katas of the Shirai-Ryu, finding himself restless from staying in one place. Learning some of the sword styles and hand-to-hand techniques of the clan provided him with something to do when not spending time with his son.

He could almost feel Hanzo’s motions as he joined him in the resting stance. “Tsume,” the Grandmaster clarified, pulling his arms back and stepping toward. Kenshi matched him in movements, quickly snapping into punches. The movements were blunt, and took a great deal of training to break him from his more fluid style.

“Tighten up, and lean out less. This is not tai chi,” Hanzo said with some gruff, his voice nearly a low bark.

Kenshi corrected his stance and pushed forward, his lips turned into a small smile. It was good to get his mind off of the thoughts running wild in his head. It was good to have a strong hand like Hanzo’s telling him to correct his stance or that he was punching at the wrong beat. It was good to lose himself to the rhythm, rather than to his own thoughts. Any other night, he might have some resentment towards being told what to do. But nights like this?

Hanzo was more than welcome to take over.

“Keep your head forward.” Hanzo moved his hands quickly, snapping back and into a half-moon stance. “You are too quick to glance towards movement, which is not necessarily towards the enemy.”

At this, Kenshi found himself a little irritated. He swung his arms left and then forward, bringing himself into a resting stance. “Are you forgetting my innate skill, Hanzo? I have more than enough blood on my blade to prove myself.”

“This is an exercise in synchronization,” Hanzo gritted out through his teeth, rolling back and thrusting twice with open palms. “Do not let your ego become bruised so easily.”

Kenshi would have argued, perhaps even taken it to a spar between the two men, had this little “exercise” not been helping him so much. He pivoted around and let out a long swing with a harsh shout. Hanzo matched him in every step, their shouts in unison, echoing around the dojo in the dead of night. The feeling echoed through Kenshi as well, feeling completely in-sync with the grandmaster, despite their petty arguments. The shouts and movements were as one, and ricocheted through the swordsman in a way that he knew he’d be thinking about for a while.

He wondered if Hanzo could feel it too.

“Sharper,” Hanzo would occasionally remind him as they moved on to the next step. They continued like that, with Hanzo occasionally giving out reminders and orders as they moved along. Kenshi corrected accordingly, never mis-stepping the same way or making the same mistake twice.

However, he couldn’t seem to control his head movements, as Hanzo was keen on reminding him. His head tilted with the movement, with the sounds of Hanzo’s voice. Kenshi could hardly control it, despite how hard he tried to keep his head stiff and still.

“Still yourself,” Hanzo finally said, leaning in without realizing what he was doing. He grabbed Kenshi’s face and steadied in a final bout of frustration, pulling the other man’s head towards him.

In an instant, Hanzo had realized what he had done. In his frustration and perfectionism, he had ended with Kenshi’s face in his hands, skin warm beneath his fingertips. Kenshi could feel all of Hanzo’s body heat, merely half a foot away from him. It would be so easy to lean in, and close that distance. It would be so easy to reach out, and feel the face in front of him, to catch his lips with his own. Kenshi bit his lower lip and parted them, the slightest invitation. He knew he should say something, _do_ something.

But Hanzo moved first.

Suddenly, Hanzo’s lips were against Kenshi’s in a dry, chaste kiss. It was painfully sweet. A question, a show of desperation. Kenshi finally relaxed his arms, finding his hands around Hanzo’s waist. He chased those lips as soon as they parted from his, sucking at the lower lip and drawing the slightest sigh from Hanzo. The kiss deepened, if only a little, repeating the motions over and over again until the two men’s bodies were flush against the other.

It couldn’t continue like this. Kenshi knew it before Hanzo even pulled away. Thoughts froze between them, and Kenshi’s head was buzzing.

“We should talk about this,” Hanzo said, cutting immediately to the chase. His words were firm, but there was a warm edge to them that betrayed his happiness, the buzz that he got from kissing the man in front of him. Kenshi smiled just a little, knowing without telepathy exactly how the man felt, and felt it radiate inside of him as well.

“We should,” Kenshi agreed, though he didn’t know what exactly to say. He knew that they needed to talk things over, to figure out exactly what it was they were doing. They needed to add up all the years of their constant dance and figure out what it all meant.

But on the other hand, Hanzo’s lips were so good, and his body was so warm. And Kenshi wanted to taste every single inch. And he could feel his normally infinite patience running a bit thin. He moved in again, this time kissing lightly at Hanzo’s neck, tasting the skin there. It was hot, like the rest of him, just barely salty from the sweat of the workout. And it was _good_. Perhaps it was because he had waited for so long, but Kenshi couldn’t get enough.

But before he could move forward and explore the needy sound that exited Hanzo’s mouth, the Grandmaster pulled back. He placed his hands on Kenshi’s shoulders and pushed him to the ground. “I will not entertain this,” he then said, sitting down on the mats in front of Kenshi.

The swordsman sighed, smiling just slightly and leaning backwards. “No. I suppose you shouldn’t.”

They were quiet for a moment, trying to figure out the right words to say. It was rare for Kenshi to find himself at such a shortage of words. Yet here he was, sitting in front of Hanzo Hasashi and struggling in silence to find voice for his emotions.

“I was born Takahashi Kenshi,” Kenshi finally said. “It was not a large family, but a proud lineage, full of warriors throughout history. We were a blessed clan, gifted with telepathy. The Takahashi name a proud one to hold,” He idly drew the kanji on the mats with his fingers. _Ken_ , the kanji for “fist” and _shi_ , the kanji for “knight”. Hanzo only grunted, encouraging him to get to the point.

“After being…after Shang Tsung tricked me, I could hear my ancestors echo inside of me. They swarmed Sento, and they swarmed my mind. They guided me, and controlled me,” Kenshi elaborated. “I felt, for a long time, like a shadow of my former self. Still proud, but lost to the power of Sento. It gave me shame, to be overwhelmed so easily, to be _tricked_ so easily by Shang Tsung.

“So I renounced my name.” Kenshi began to draw new kanji on the mat. “I gave up the Takahashi, relying only on Sento to tie me to my roots. And I changed the kanji. I became nothing more than a mere swordsman.” _Ken_ , the kanji for “sword”. _Sei,_ the kanji for “saint”.

“In this, I gave up my home. I gave up all notions of being anything more than a vessel for my blade. My family name had vanished, and so too the idea of family.” Kenshi let out a sad laugh. “It seems so foolish now. But I’m sure you can understand the foolish things we do as a sign of penance.”

“I surely do,” Hanzo then rasped, followed by a nod, as though encouraging Kenshi to continue.

“Suchin was the closest I ever had to breaking that oath. I saw her more often than I had planned, and fought by her side more than once.” Kenshi paused to mull that thought over.

“Well, I should say, she was the closest I had until I met you.”

Kenshi could _feel_ it all shifting gears in Hanzo’s mind, realizing where exactly this was going. He could hear Hanzo shuffle against the floors of the dojo, moving himself closer.

“Nothing had confused me more than the idea of having a son. I wanted him safe. And I wanted him strong. However, I also had no idea what to do with a child. I had no home. The apartment S-F provided is…accommodating, but my life was dedicated to the blade. I had no loyalty to a structure, or a house, or a bed.

“But in the past several years, I found myself imagining what it would be like to wake up by your side.”

Hanzo did not say anything, for a long time. It was clear that he couldn’t find the words to say, or perhaps he simply did not believe anything more needed to be said. Kenshi wasn’t sure either. Perhaps he said enough to get his point across.

Finally, Hanzo spoke. “You have done everything in your power to drive me mad, Kenshi. I was more than happy to train Takeda. It was a debt to be paid, and a child in need of guidance. He became indispensable to me. A son to fill a hole in my weary heart. But I couldn’t ever shake you. You kept appearing in my life, again and again. Your flirtations were maddening, your kindness and wisdom even more so. And when things became impossible, and when the wraith became more important than the man, I remembered your words to me.” This time, it was Hanzo’s turn to let out a small laugh. “I despised how thoroughly you had infiltrated my life. And how easily you left it again for months on end.”

“I don’t want to leave anymore,” Kenshi finally confessed. The words surprised himself, even if they were a long time coming. “Takeda and I will one day take our training elsewhere. We always knew that. But I also I always knew that in time, he would return to the Shirai-Ryu. The clan was his home. His family. _You_ are his family. I always knew he’d return.”

“And you?” Hanzo said, his voice stiffer than normal, as though his heart were pounding right in his throat. And from the sound of his breathing, Kenshi could have very well believed it.

“I’m not sure I could stay away,” Kenshi finally confessed, moving even closer to the man. He raised up his hand tentatively, testing the friction between them. Hanzo didn’t knock his arm out of the way, so Kenshi rested his hand against Hanzo’s neck.  Suddenly, his hands felt cold in comparison to the heat of the other man’s body. He craved more of that warmth. He had craved it for so long. And now, he suddenly couldn’t remember why he stayed away. Why the thought of being so attached to someone had terrified him. “I would like to kiss you.”

“Only a fool would refuse you,” Hanzo nearly growled, moving in close enough to let their lips touch again. It took only an instant for the kiss to deepen, allowing Kenshi to thoroughly explore the other’s mouth. Hanzo pulled away at the first sign of tongue, however. Kenshi picked up the cue immediately, pushing back in with a more chaste approach, sucking just a little on Hanzo’s bottom lip before turning his attention to his jaw. He planted little kisses there, letting his hands rest in Hanzo’s hair.

Hanzo was not one for sound, but let out the smallest of breaths at Kenshi’s ministrations. “You are infuriating,” he said, his voice stretched thin as Kenshi continued to explore his jaw and neckline with his mouth.

Kenshi pulled back, finally to land a small kiss on Hanzo’s temple. “We should likely continue this-”

“Another time,” Hanzo finished, before he could say anything else. Kenshi was going to suggest they take it to Hanzo’s bedroom, but he should have known that wasn’t a step they were ready to take. He moved back immediately and nodded, unable to resist his hand brushing against Hanzo’s. It was a simple motion, but somehow even more intimate than the kiss, just a ghost of a touch.

But then Hanzo’s hand brushed back, gently intertwining the two men’s fingers. It was so sweet that Kenshi could barely believe it, feeling Hanzo’s hand against his own. And he picked up a thought, a small one, just a whisper in the silence of the dojo. But Kenshi heard it regardless.

And finally, it felt like home.


End file.
